


Play Dead

by hedoro



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Angst, M/M, What else is new?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 00:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13535988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedoro/pseuds/hedoro
Summary: Sometimes they play nice.But mostly they play dead.





	Play Dead

**Author's Note:**

> cobbled together in around five minutes. this is me trying to get past writer's block.  
>  for anyone awaiting an update for hdwh - i swear i'm working on it. ♥

It's hard not to notice the haunted eyes and the telltale of sleepless nights and early mornings. It's hard not to say a thing but easy to turn a blind eye to, for themselves anyway.  
  
After all, they've had practice at avoiding the ghosts of things long dead that still linger on in their peripheral vision and on the fringes of their hearts.  
  
It's even easier to block out the conversations that echo in the hallways at band practice and in their minds late at night with guitar chords played louder than they're meant to be played.  
  
Sometimes they fall asleep with the light left on but that doesn't stop the bad dreams they have.  
  
But nightmares are comforting to them because it's better to wake up feeling scared than to fall asleep to dreams of bliss and wake up haunted by memories of the past and those feelings that were supposed to be buried and put to rest.  
  
Sometimes playing certain songs hurts. It's a constant reminder of how the memory of them still lives on in the songs they've composed and in the way their fingers flex against fretboards instead of against each other's bodies.  
  
Some days it's still brutal and raw, still brand new. Some days less so, like the ache that follows years after saying goodbye, after years of having to live with it with a begrudging acceptance.  
  
Sometimes there's a pitying look. Sometimes there's blatant anger. Sometimes they're still grieving for what they've lost.  
  
And sometimes they're just drifting by, barely functioning but somehow still breathing despite how dead they feel. Sometimes they play nice.  
  
But mostly they play dead.  
  
They're good at that. They've had practice during band practice. Acknowledging when they should have denied. Denying when they should have moved on—  
  
forcing feelings and fighting ghosts, unable to truly say goodbye.


End file.
